In The Dark of Knight
by The Cloaked Guardian
Summary: "Asami Sato, mother killed by a firebender, father dead soon after, left for years and comes back asking for weapons." She's going to have to come up with some way to conceal her identity, if it's really that obvious.
1. First Outing

First Outing

From a distance of almost ten years away, she walks home. She finds it appropriate – she's coming back the same way she left. Of course, she's lost a significant sum of money, but she's gained what she considers a fair exchange of skills and knowledge.

She's abandoned most of the things that connected her to her old life. The bright dresses with the brilliant reds she'd loved are gone, replaced by by a black shirt and pants that only serve to cover her. Her hair, once long, lovely, is cut short - almost buzzed.

The brightness in her eyes is gone.

* * *

She travels the same path, but the world around it has changed. There are cars all over the streets – not just Satomobiles, but Cabbage-Corp made knockoffs, and even rare third-party creations. The city is lit, all through the night, by brilliant electric lamps (no rival to the sun, perhaps, but there had always been a touch of darkness to the city). There are buildings that reach dozens of stories now, extending into the sky – the grasping fingers of humanity trying to claim the glory of the stars.

But she knows there is darkness in this gleaming metropolis.

The news covers it skimpily, and the cops pursue it perfunctorily, but everyone knows it. The government is in the thrall of the bending gangs, and the gangs are unstoppable.

She has lost less than her City.

After the destitution and expansion that confronted her in her walk, she finds the sight of her home reassuring. When her father was alive, the mansion would always be updated with the newest technology, with the greatest of human achievements, but it has not changed since she left; Butler has clearly not kept up with technology. Father wouldn't have liked that. Regardless, it is still fundamentally the same. This house will be her rock.

Loitering outside the door, she feels the first touches of anxiety. What is she going to tell Butler? For all he knows, she could be dead. She hasn't even contacted him in the past years. They didn't part ways well, and she's changed so much. Will he even recognize her?

She makes a decision, the same way she's been taught, and she reaches up to ring the doorbell. It's an intricate work: the old world combined with the new, the elegance of the old Earth Kingdom knockers blended with a panel that clearly leads to some kind of wiring. As she depresses it, she can hear the tone echoing inside the house.

Then she waits. Patience is not one of her strong suits, though. She lasts a minute before she realizes that Butler is probably asleep, and then considers her next move.

She lets herself in, of course. No use in waiting until morning - she's already waited years. Butler's taken the key away from its traditional place under the fourth stone, but she's good enough to go in through one of the windows. The house has serious defensive vulnerabilities; she'll have to fix that later. Now, though, she has work to do.

This house will become her weapon, and she will have to know it intimately.

* * *

Butler finds her in the morning, scribbling on pieces of paper in the office. He almost shrieks when he sees her; it's a sound she's never heard before, and it puts her on alert too. "Miss Asami!"

She turns and faces him, and it's a surprise to see his face. He's aged - more than she expected - and she doesn't know what to say.

Thankfully, he does. Butler rushes over to her, ignoring the papers, meriting an inward groan from her - these diagrams took a night to set up - but it all takes a backseat as he envelops her in a hug, and she feels almost like she could be a child again.

When they break the embrace, he begins to ask questions. He always was a talker. "Where have you been?"

She shrugs. "Kyoshi. The Boiling Rock. Omashu. The Northern Air Temple." She pauses. "All over, really."

"What have you been doing?" Butler asks - more confused now than he was before, she senses.

She tells him. She tells him the plan.

When he thinks he understands, he raises his hand, stopping her. "You're going to stop the crime in Republic City? How?"

She hasn't exactly figured that part out yet.

He sighs. "A story, then." He forestalls her protests. "You'll want to hear this, Miss Asami. You know the tale of the Hundred Years' War?"

She knows, of course. She's studied it - the biggest recent military conflict, the single most important event that defines Republic City and the relations between benders and non-benders. The Hundred Years' War literally changed the world.

"And I'm sure you heard how Fire Lord Zuko defeated his sister and the Avatar defeated the Phoenix King?"

She knows.

"The war didn't end then, Miss Asami. It didn't end when Fire Lord Zuko took the throne, either. It ended when the men heard that the Avatar had taken the field against the Fire Empire remnants."

"Of course it ended when the overwhelming force attacked them, Butler. I don't see your point."

"I'm not done yet, Miss Asami. It didn't end when the Avatar took the field. It ended when the men heard that the Avatar had taken the field. They didn't surrender to the Avatar personally - as powerful as he was, he wasn't omnipresent. They surrendered when they were afraid because an unstoppable force was coming for them. That's my advice to you."

Butler refused to say any more of it that day.

* * *

She tells herself that she's merely going to out to assess the situation, to understand the enemy, but she knows that she's lying to herself. She's going out to fight.

That doesn't mean she can't lie well, though.

So she disguises herself. She's all over the news these days – "INDUSTRIAL HEIRESS RETURNS HOME," "CITY'S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELORESS", "FORMER INVENTORESS TO SUCCEED FATHER". The "ess"s set her on edge. The papers want to emphasize her femininity. They already feel threatened by her. It's a good sign.

She changes her face to walk unnoticed, incorporating a ridiculous scar that slices from temple to cheek. A large detail distracts the eyes - keeping them from the truth. No one will see Asami Sato under this mask.

She hopes against all her logic that they will see a target.

She's told herself that she isn't looking for trouble – not yet, anyway – and so she avoids the dark districts when she sets off. She's just another disfigurement on the face of Republic City, another pockmark on a once-beautiful visage. She blends in.

It's only natural. This is her home.

* * *

She goes to the dark districts last; she knows that's where the journey will end. She's braced herself to see what her city has become, but it shocks her even now. Republic City is stripped of its base decency - ripped mercilessly away from her rosy memories.

Intellectually, she knows that it's a den of sin, where benders rule – as much as anyone can say that there is rule. Different gangs fight their way to the ever-shifting top, with the only constants being the damage they cause on the way there. Crime is rampant in the worst fashion - interchangeably. But this is her city, and she refuses to believe that it's become a hell.

But here, in front of her eyes, she sees what the "City of Tomorrow" has to offer. She sees a fight in the middle of what used to be a group of houses – two men with knives struggling over a box. When one disembowels the other, another pair is rotated in, and the crowd starts clamoring again. She sees a woman accosted in an alley, giving up her money, praying for her life, and let go only because a rival gang comes around. She sees a man dragged, kicking and screaming, into darkness, and no one turns an eye.

The police do not reach here. The law does not reach here. The closest anything reaches order is the gangs - the gangs, by the strength of their benders, wit their territorial wars, their jockeying for dominance, and, above all, the fear they strike into the people of Republic City. Her people. Her city.

She gives up on stealth, and walks into an alley.

Surprisingly – _shamefully_ – it doesn't take long for a man to show up. He's alone – something that seems odd – benders move in packs, supporting each other – he's coming up and there's no time to think – training takes over.

"You better have some money in that purse, ugly." He doesn't seem like a bender. He doesn't hold himself like a bender. When he hits her, he doesn't go through the motions of a bender, doesn't shift his body to command supernatural forces. He just hits her.

He's not even a bender.

She's disgusted, and rage takes over. She ducks under his next strike, knees him, elbows him in the jaw, grabs his arm and breaks it.

"No purse-snatching for you tonight," she adds, staring at the body. It whimpers.

That's when the benders show up. A firebender – _why do they always wear the same color as their element?_ – along with a friend of his. An earth bender, by the muted tones and the ridiculous mustache. They block the nearest exit, staring at her – a disfigured woman standing over the body of a thug.

_Why are they looking at me like that?_

Of course. She's forgotten to scream.

The benders are on alert, now, as they move in. "What did you do to Rocko?" they ask, moving in unison. They're a team, she realizes. They know each other's strengths, weaknesses, attacks, usually a tremendous advantage – but they're simultaneously limited. They're used to a third member of their team.

She doesn't waste time on it. She lurches around, left, right, closing the distance, and as their hands spread out – classic bender preparation for a strike – she hits the firebender in the chin, a clean blow, knocking him out, and tackles the earthbender, going high, taking him down. She stays calm as his hands go up – his feet are off the ground, he has no leverage anyway – twists, breaks the shoulder, and throws an elbow at his exposed face. Two benders out.

She stands, brushes the gravel off of her hands, her knees. She'll have to start wearing knee pads – going to the ground like that on the stone hurt, and a little protection never damaged anybody. She looks at the bodies – pretty good work. They'll not bother anyone for the next two weeks at least.

She's feeling good and not paying attention, flushed with victory, so she doesn't hear the ice form, doesn't hear the wind whistle in the spikes, and it's only a sideways turn as she goes to leave the alley that saves her.

_Lucky._

Two icicles fly past her, brushing her body, and she bites down on a scream as fire runs up her side. She clutches at her ribs, keeping pressure on them – pressure is important, can't loose too much blood – winces at the slickness.

She turns and sees the man with the broken arm. A waterbender. The third member of the gang. Of course, of course, of course. How could she be so stupid? Not all benders would hit like benders. Some had training.

"Not so tough now, are you, bitch," he spits, teeth red, and laughs despite the way he's managed to contort his already broken arm.

She still has enough energy left to walk over to him and kick him in the head. She repeats the motion, methodically, until she knows that he's out cold, that he won't wake up for at least a day, that his brain will probably never work the same way again, and then she turns to leave.

She's barely out when more of the benders appear. They rush into the alley from the other side, giving her precious time. Time enough to save her own life.

_Lucky._

She runs out of the alley, as quickly as she can but they're faster, with their healthy bodies and their bending. She gets out with them on her heels, but she throws a rock to the other side of the alley and they take the bait, and she's soon cloaked in the darkness.

_Lucky._

She walks, when she can, shambling when she can't, grasping the wall for support. She needs to get back to her car. She needs to get back home. She needs to find out how to fix this. She needs to find out how to make it all work.

She's a child again, Asami Sato, running through the streets of the city, light pouring down from the sky like gold, warm, soft, going to her father's arms, going into the car –

She snaps out of it as she settles into the driver's seat. She has to look at her hands to get the keys, and it stuns her how much blood there is. She's never bled this much before. She never thought there would be a reason to know _how much can I bleed_, when she'd been training.

She'd been so naïve.

She'd gotten lucky.

She fumbles with the keys, blood slick on her palms, and drops them. She curses. A policeman is coming – metalbender cop – corrupt of course – and he'll look inside the car, the handle red from her blood, and he'll check inside. He'll find the scarred woman and sooner or later he'll find Asami Sato, and that'll end it all.

She gets the keys.

He's coming closer, and she jams the key into the slot, depresses the brake, changes gears, leaves the space. She pushes the acceleration, and the policeman jumps out of the way, and the car keeps moving.

_Lucky._

The policeman shouts, reaches out his hand, trying to manipulate the metal in the car. She's speeding off, though, and it's out of range. She goes on, one hand on her side, keeping the blood from entirely leaving her body, one hand keeping her from running into the scenery.

_Lucky._

She gets home a bloody mess, and drags herself to her father's study. The room where he lived.

The room where he died.

She decides that she may have to do the same.


	2. I Shall Become A Bat

I Shall Become A Bat

_Father… I'm afraid I may have to die tonight. _

_I've tried to be patient. I've tried to wait. But I have to know._

She sits in her father's study, blood leaking steadily from the gash in her side. She sits alone, in the darkness, without comfort or succor. She thinks.

_How, father? How do I do it? _

_What do I use… to make them afraid?_

She sits, demanding her father for an answer, fully expecting to die if she does not receive one. She forces the world to give in, because she will not. She cannot.

_If I ring this bell, Butler will come. He can stop the bleeding… in time. Another one of your gifts to me, father._

_I have wealth. The family manor rests above a huge cave that will be the perfect headquarters… even a butler with training in combat medicine…_

_…yes, father, I have everything but patience. I have waited fifteen years. I would rather die than wait another day._

Without warning, it comes. It swoops high in her peripheral vision, and she comprehends a black shape, ill-defined against the dark night, hurtling toward the window, crashing through the glass and slamming into the carpet.

They both stay frozen, the bloody, broken animal, the bloody, broken woman. She stirs to look at it, and guesses at its nature.

_A bat-bear? A bat-wolf? A bat-cow? _

_No. I remember. It frightened me as a girl… frightened me…_

_Yes, father. I shall become a bat._


	3. Clothes

Clothes

She'd liked clothes when she was young.

Sick irony, that: now that her job requires dressing up, she hates it.

She's rifling through her newly bought wardrobe (crisp lines and soft fabric), trying to find appropriate attire for the meeting. She's not succeeding. The black dress is for parties, too short in the back; the green one is so unsuited to her she can't imagine why she bought it; the red one makes her look like a schoolteacher; and all of them put together would show skin – and skin shows muscle.

She can't play that hand. Secrecy is paramount, and she's made enough mistakes already.

"Butler," she calls, "more dresses."

Her door opens within a fraction of a second, and a rainbow series of cloth emerges. She grabs the stack to reveal a hand, which promptly darts back out, closing the door with it.

"Any luck, Miss Sato?" Butler's voice comes through the door easily enough. She idly wonders about a device that would allow telephonic communication within a house; it's shrugged off when she considers the cost/benefit ratio.

"Obviously not," she replies, leafing through the stack like a picture book. Half of the clothes immediately find themselves in the Utterly Worthless pile; another fourth are relegated to the Maybe Later. She consigns herself to repetitively scrolling between the remainder. "Everything's showing too much muscle. I need…" she pauses. A rant about fashion will do her no good. "Brief me on the state of Future Industries."

"Yes, ma'am." Butler is at heart a professional, and his tone slips into the businesslike. "Since the departure of your father, Future Industries has been steadily declining. Without Hiroshi Sato's constant inventions, Future Industries has not been able to keep up with rival Cabbage Corp., and attempts to sell to other markets have been dismal failures. Currently, the company is surviving by implementing some theoretical work of your father's and selling patents and ideas, but these are a finite supply. If it continues along this path, Future Industries will be bankrupt within five years."

It is nothing she doesn't know, but it relaxes him to talk and it helps her to listen. This is a good position for her – better than she could have hoped for during the years she was gone. The company is still live, still has enough capital for a turnaround – but it is failing, and the Board will be desperate. She will be able to take control, and Future Industries is one of the most powerful tools within her reach.

"And if I may suggest something, Miss Sato?"

"Of course, Mister Butler." She contemplates a deep red dress. It's the kind of thing she would have reveled in, long, long ago, before a night in darkness and burning flesh. She thinks for a second, and then places it delicately in the Worthless pile.

"How about a suit?"

She nearly laughs, she's so surprised. "A suit, Butler? Last time I checked, I was female."

"Yes, but it's been a while since you checked fashion. Suits are the up-and-coming wear for enterprising young ladies in Republic City."

It's a good idea, if he's telling the truth – and she knows Butler wouldn't lie to her. Properly done, a suit could give the exact impression she wants: professionalism and innovation.

"If you wanted to try one on, I have a few tailor-made right here," he continues.

This is why Butler is invaluable.

Again the door opens, and again a stack of cloth emerges – but this is a dark beast of blues and grays and blacks that pokes its head out, monochromatic cousin to the colorful explosion that had availed her so little.

For the first time in years, she's excited about clothes.

She can't quite get the suit to fit, and a simple glance in the mirror confirms her fear –she's a mess. The solution is simple, though, so she steps out of the wardrobe and stands, feet together, hands up, like she'd seen her father do so often.

Butler hustles and bustles, adjusting a sleeve here, a button there, gently tugging the fabric so its centerline lies over hers – cleaning up all the little errors.

When he's done she knows she's ready.

* * *

The table is nearly full. She sits at the head and recites the names of her board members to pass the time.

Marokk, Shin, Jang, Han, Lee. Only Wen is missing.

He is already ten minutes late.

It's a particularly vexing move. Wen is undermining her authority already, and he is one of the major shareholders – paractically untouchable, and he knows it.

She'd hoped to avoid this problem. Wen could have made this entire process easier on them both. She needs this company – the entire company, blood and bone, heart and soul. She's going to have to negotiate with Wen.

Hopefully, she won't have to resrt to her other options.

Enough time has passed. She clears her throat, and the table's attention swirls to her. "Given Wen's lack of appearance, we should start now," she says. Her board members mumble agreement.

She has to toe a tightrope with this situation. Too much force, and the people will start making connections (ten years away is already an egregious error.) Too little, though, and they'll see her as weak.

Her public face has to be different. Someone frivolous… carefree. Someone who will make them forget what she went through, and hopefully make them forget exactly what she's capable of.

That's for another day. Her attention returns to the present.

"If you look at the papers in front of you, you'll see our reports. I think it's clear to all involved that this company has not done well in my absence."

Assent – again, all under their breath. The members of the Board are still noncommittal – recalcitrant, almost. She has to reach into them, pull out that hesitance screaming, and kill it. She must have this company.

"I am returned, and I am going to bring us back to success. We're going to start –"

"Hold on, Asami." Her given name is so foreign to her she starts. Lee had always been familiar, but this is another line entirely. "What makes you think you can just come back and take control? Honestly, I've been thinking about just dissolving Future Industries. We haven't made a profit in years, and it's –"

She cuts him off. "Look inside your packet," she says. Lee reacts quickly for a man about to propose destroying her inheritance. He looks through his packet, quickly passing the papers he already knows and pausing at the one set he doesn't.

"What is this?" he demands. The diagram has shaken him.

"Body armor," she replies. "Top of the line, and cheaper than the alternatives. You are in charge of production." She turns to the table at large. "Within each of your packets is a design. You each will implement it and produce it. Those of you who succeed will be rewarded; tghose who do not will be chastised accordingly. This is my company now."

She strides out of the room without looking back.

_Your move, Wen._

* * *

The cave is a lot like her mind – dark but purposeful, stuffed full of useful tools and information, and completely batty.

Somehow, the process by which she doesn't even want to imagine, her father had managed to place the only viable pure bat colony directly in his own underground lair.

The lair has the distinct advantage of being an undetectable underground lair, covered with a sheeting of metal pure enough to avoid even the piercing gazes of Republic City's metalbending police force.

She offers a thanks to her father's foresight – or paranoia, as it were. When she'd known him, he'd been remarkably suspicious about the sharing of his plans – except with her. She still remembered learning at his feet, as he drew, contemplated, and discarded. He had been the greatest inventor she'd ever known – except, perhaps, herself.

Now she's putting her skills to work. She thought of devices upon devices, in her years away, honing her methods for the inevitable war, and now she has the key to tie them all together. The process – and the fear. She will become more than woman, more than human, more than bender – legend.

The bats screech madly as she completes her work.


End file.
